


I Am Not Mistress In My Own Abode

by Tyellas



Category: The Comfortable Courtesan - Madame C- C-
Genre: Bisexuality, Canon Compliant, Clothing Porn, Diary/Journal, Domestic Bliss, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Femslash, Fluff, Gen, Gratuitous wombatt reference, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Regency, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: Lady B-, once that esteemed Courtesan famed in London Town, lifts her pen in discretion to record a day of Pleasaunce, strung on the thread of a silver hair.





	I Am Not Mistress In My Own Abode

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rmc28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmc28/gifts).



> Written for rmc28 for the Yuletide 2018 exchange. “I think this is very much an "anything, so long as it's MORE" kind of request.” Rmc28 also expressed a fondness for Hector, for the youngsters Flora and Hannah, and Eliza/Clorinda, and I’ve done my best! A follow on to book 12, _Felicities Maximised._
> 
> This is also written to be an introductory peek at the series, which is deliciously long and detailed. Also, many thanks to that Fine Person of Letters, my beta reader [bethagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethagain/pseuds/bethagain).

This past half-year I, once such a diarist, have fall’n Hard out of the habit of scribing a journal. I have been about tasks of which I shall only say that, though it is of import to them that Lady B- seems a silly fair creature, intelligence is applied at _many levels_. Discretion, as well. Yet I wished to record the events of this Particular Day.

I woke with the light of dawn: late and thin, it being early winter, the first days of December. But, oh, what pleasure to wake in my own time, not to some Hopeful Night-Scratch upon the door. Instead, beneath my own eiderdown, in my own abode! Appointed in my taste entire, surrounded by my treasures. By which I mean more than my China and my Library.

One friendly treasure appeared by my bedside with my morning chocolate and Butter’d Toast. I inquired about this edible addition and was Solemn Informed that my cook, Euphemia, has declared I should have Butter’d Toast. Docket, my dresser, is mind’d to second this. They are agreed the strain of this year is shown upon me and my cheeks must be more round to truly smile.

Sure I am not mistress in my own abode. ‘Tis sure, as well, hot toast in bed on a snowy morn is a very fine thing.

I sipped, and nibbled, and contemplated this year past. Such Doings as I never thought I would partake in. As a child, I was but a chit dashing about backstage 'round London's theaters. In my first flower, I happily exchanged my favours for coin and gentlemen's patronage. As a Courtesan in the right place at the right moment, I had a brief marriage of Mutual Convenience that made a lady of me. And what plots society had brought me, this year alone! Matchmaking, Politicking in the Home and the Realm, Murder, Intelligencing, Delivering a Lady Wombat to her Affianced Fellow Creature. It was a wonder my hair had not gone clear grey in response.

That dreadful thought made me snap the last crust ‘twixt my fingers. Was I, perchance, going grey? I took up the tortoise comb from my dressing-table and perched there to essay the exploration. After ten strokes through my curls, indeed, there ‘twas. A Silver Thread amongst the gold.

I divested of my wrapper and Examin’d myself in the glass. Verily, I am not the Dewy Rose I once was. My vaunt’d Bubbies take on a slope. The pink softens from their nipples, as from my lips. Perhaps I will become as a Marble Venus in my age, all pale from top to toe.

Docket came in at this moment opportune. She declared, “How now, why this face? If the wind should change and freeze it we are all in ill luck.”

I informed her, with suitable gloom, I had discovered my first grey hair, and offered the offending Silver Thread as evidence.

Seeing it, Docket sniffed. Mattered nowt, she said, as long as I stayed stylish and _a la mode._ “Is’t not the most _jolie-laide_ quizzes that flaunt the most daring clothes?” I smiled at this Fresh Perspective, and was dress’d post-haste in garments suitable for my morn. As observ’d before, I am not mistress in my own abode.

Briefly, I removed to my beloved Library, to attend to a few letters. Hector it was who brought me a tray of correspondence and cards. I took the opportunity to inquire whether what the Jupps, in their livery-stable up the street, had mentioned to me, was true: that Hector was giving vails and woollens to local beggars for news.

Hector huffed, and chuffed, and admitted ‘twas so. “The Jupps be just the same – their hay-stack is fair packed with cutpurses sleeping warm by night to keep a weather-eye on these streets by day. But, Madame, it is all for the same reason. That we may know what passes, and you may be safe and easy in your home, now that you are returned to us.”

In conclusion, Hector stood nobly tall and asked whether he was to be dismissed.

Was there, I inquired, enough News to make this Worthwhile?

“No news worth disturbing Madame over,” Hector replied. He opined that the attention to unfortunate elements gave them less inducement to Treachery or Suborning.

I did sigh. “Time passes, and I grow old. Surely others would set aside their vendettas against me as past their freshness.”

Hector squar’d his puglist’s shoulders as if I had offered him a Prize-Fight. Declared he, even if Madame was as a Wax-Doll who stayed a’home or went to no more than Ladies’ Teas, they would still be hard-put to’t by Madame’s admirers. He would die on the rack afore admitting to my deeper doings, yet with his charge of our secureness he cannot Ignore them. Betides, there were other women and children in my orbit, and like the Moon reflect the Sun, they were considered to be of Desirable Quality for the Association. Had not one of my friends, Agnes L -, suffered from an attempt at kidnapping?

I recall’d how very devoted a Papa Hector is to his two fine twins, and how entranced he remains with his wife Euphemia. Nor was he wrong about Agnes. I said, very well, let it be so. And have a word with me about some largesse for Boxing Day that comes soon. Dolly Mutton’s ladies grow to be fine wranglers of woollens.

Hector grinned with a pleasure near Leonine and clicked his heels before bowing and departing. Further evidence I am not mistress in my own abode.

Both Docket and Sophy accompanied me to Brigitte’s for a final fitting of three winter gowns. I was not wonted to describe these in the past – to chronicle my dressing would double my diarist’s work –  yet this day I think I might. There is an ashes-of-roses silk touched with black, for those Evangelickal evenings, yet I vow it makes my hair look gold as fire yet. Second comes a cambric with gold worked into it, to see me into the spring, varied by an angled drape. It bestows the flattery I need until I have had a few more Awakenings with Butter’d Toast. And a blue velvet with fine long sleeves, slashed over a palest cream silk underlining. It is a _robe a la russe_ , with that great rarity, Pockets. It fit me to a line, so much so it was wrap’t to bring away, and is quite my new favourite. There were also fresh slippers to match each gown, and a fine corset, flossed in pink silk, that renews my Bosom to its youthful angles. I am Greatly Cheered.

In the carriage back, I did a little Spy-Craft of my own, and mused aloud about Boxing Day gifts for my household. Docket had many great opinions on this matter, especial on the charms of Lace Caps for the more senior servants. Titus and Tibby, Sophy recalled, are embark’d on their own establishment. She said if I might think me of some Linens, they would be welcome there.

Arriving home, I returned once more to my library and jotted a note or two. I had scarce a moment to enjoy the fire’s warmth when I was told that Sandy had come by. He came up at the same time as his favourite liquid Sustenance, Coffee, and an ample plate of girdle-cakes with fresh-whipped butter. "How now," he asked me, "why so amused? Is my cravat awry? It is true that Lord R- gave me a very fond farewell."

I said Nay, but told him of my silver hair, Docket’s advice, and my household’s plot to feed me on cream. He laughed _most immoderately._

I asked what brought him hither. In response he delivered me a small Package. Most Urgent, he said, Particular Delivery. I unwrapped it, paling. What summons of intelligence lay within? But it was something desirable in its urgency: a tiny painting by my infant Bluestocking, Flora. She had depicted herself, very vividly, hand-in-hand with Hannah, and had writ upon the bottom that Flora loved Aunty C.

For a moment, I was so nigh overcome I wonder if I must pretend to have a cinder in my eye. But this was Sandy, to whom I might confess all. O, I said, o, was ever a child so clever. O, my dear sweet Flower, in such a kindly Hothouse. Thank you, my friend. And I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Sandy blush’d a touch and had two more envelopes for me. The first was Agnes L’s latest volume of verse. Sandy has taken the place of her Publication Facilitator in my extended absences this year, and they, too, grow fine friends. The book came to me with a fine inscription from Agnes. Our friend spends the Yule about country duties, but does not want me to think I am forgot. ‘Twas most delightful.

Even more so was the third envelope Sandy carried – for this one bid fair to bring a Dearest Friend to me. Mrs. F- asked if she might bide with me this night. Mr. F- is at the safe tail end of a Shocking Lurgy. Tho’ our mutual darling is out of Danger, his cough would yet lesson both a Lion and a Unicorn. Since there was no sleeping at his side, they are both agreed she might find my abode more restful, would I but give her refuge.

Immediately I inked a reply that of course she Must Come, why, she could even consider My Bed as Her Own. By the time I was done telling Sandy of this, and hearing his latest news and pleasures, the girdle-cakes were gone and the clock struck four. Sandy fled and I flew myself, for before I might see my Dearest Eliza, I had an engagement to dine.

Rebecca F – had ask’d me to a dinner that night. Rebecca is to be married to Lord U – in the new year. Tonight, Lord U joined her family for one of the Jewish Celebrations, and I, too, was invited. Since the Royal Dukes went to the synagogue recently, they have opened such nights to a few of their friends.  I hear ‘tis the prettyest rite, this (I check the invitation to spell it aright) Chanukah. They pray as they light candles, and give the children vails, and serve rich morsels. I felt greatly honoured to join them. 

After a pleasant journey through the snowy streets, I arrived at the F – family house, a fine merchant’s abode. Lord U – was not arrived yet, but Rebecca greeted me like – I would say a Sister, but after my Grey Thread this morn perhaps Favoured Aunt was more correct. She introduced me to her brothers, each more handsome and clever than the last.

Might they, I wonder, make some matches for the Young Ladies I know?  It has been a sad foolish world, with prejudices against Marriage between those of different Beliefs or Hues, those who earn their crust and those given it with a Lord’s Crest. But Rebecca F –’s upcoming nuptials to the Christian Lord U – make me hope we embark on more sensible times. Especially after I saw Lord U’s smiling face as he greeted his affianced.

Soon after he arrived, ‘twas sundown, and we grouped for the Chanukah Prayers. The Youngest Son of the house lit five candles on a branch that may hold eight. Tonight, it turned out, was only one of Eight Holy Days. They spoke a fine melodious Hebrew for the rite: it is not one of my languages. I understand naught save what Rebecca whispered to me, and two parts of the whole. That the rite brought them all the greatest satisfaction, and that it is well placed between the pretty and the dignified. Small wonder that many from the Levant wish to keep these fine old ways.

Then, we dined. Docket and Euphemia together would have approved the fine Repast.

It was at table I divined that perhaps Rebecca had invited me for a reason. There was a dark and handsome Man of Mystery at the table. A jewel merchant, Mr. E -, whose business had brought him into fine Automatons. When he was a lad, his widowed mama was one of the silver-smiths who graved feathers for the well-known Silver Swan of Barnard Castle. I listened in the Great’st Fascination.  I have an ironmonger, an admiral, and a Bow Street runner amongst my lovers, yet no automaton-crafter. His clever hands - bare of rings, notable for a jeweler - upon the silverware made me think I should remedy this before winter’s fading.

After dining, when we ladies removed to a parlour, I sate with Rebecca and asked if she did well. She confided that she had asked Lord U- if he fear’d no Disadvantage from wedding a Jewess. With stars in her eyes, Rebecca said, “He replied, the opposite entire, that he hoped his family, after his father’s deeds, would not be a blot upon mine.” ‘Tis a Fair Concern, I noted. Rebecca assured me of Lord U's every virtue. If this lover’s litany was a little tedious, I wish all my lady friends would bore me thus.

I did not linger after the men joined us – not even the talented Mr. E. The most successful way to draw a man’s attention is not to seek it. And Experience has taught me that a new dish might Pique the appetite, but that one can be well sated at home, where _a beloved favorite dish_ awaits.

On my return, I found my bedchamber was Twice Warm’d by Eliza’s presence, so new arrived she still wore her crimson wool pelisse. It was a delight to show myself in my fine wrappings before my darling, as a holiday surprise. Eliza admired the _robe a la russe_ to an extreme. “Thou art the Queen of the Snow,” she declared, “to my Mother Yule.”

“Then I must sit on thy lap,” I said, “and tell thee what I wish for a Yule-gift.” And so I did: my first request being Very Many Kisses.

Finally, our lips Part’d, and my darling said, “Now, all your household asked me Most Particular to cheer thee. So, tell me what thou has’t been a-doing, maidy,” she commanded.

In her arms, I spilled my foolish woes. That my year had Tax’d me verily, that I was not Mistress in my own Abode, and that I grew sadly Old.

This last, as with Sandy, made her quiver with mirth. “I have been old for ever next to you.”

Protested I, “Yes, but it does not matter for – ”

Eliza completed this with, “- I was never a beauty.”

“No, no! You will ever be beautiful to me. For I love you. And I will never love you one less jot for any sign of age.” As I spoke it, I knew it true. Were such signs not the marks of days we had Known each other, becoming Friends and Lovers as might never have been dreamed? Perhaps I, too, might be forgiven life’s creases and silver locks.

Mrs. F seized my waist anew in her arms. Holding me close, she told me of her fondness in rough country cant. I was _complete undone._

There followed further, final proof, at the hands of my wild girl, that I am indeed no mistress in my own abode. And Very Much the Happier for it am I this day.

Eliza fell asleep soon after our happiness. ‘Tis true that her devotion had wearied her this past week. I, too sparkling yet for repose, slipped up and wrote this by the light of my bedroom’s fire, now down to ashes.

Glad was I to write of this happy day, and this night that was not dark in the Slight’st, that I might Preserve it as Euphemia does the ripe fruits of summer. I shall think of it as my Seasons turn.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Since the Royal Dukes went to the Synagogue_ – In 1809 King George’s two sons caused a stir by visiting the Great Synagogue of London for a religious service, a sign of royal interest and approval that caused controversy at the time. 
> 
> _The Silver Swan_ \- The Silver Swan is one of the most famous 18th-century automatons, [learn more here!](https://www.thebowesmuseum.org.uk/Collections/Explore-The-Collection/The-Silver-Swan)


End file.
